


Story Ideas and Unfinished Fics

by lilithiumwords



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Bodyswap, Curses, Ficlet Collection, Gen, Humor, M/M, Romance, Wingfic, dance, unfinished works
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-26
Updated: 2016-08-26
Packaged: 2018-08-11 05:47:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7878838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilithiumwords/pseuds/lilithiumwords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short stories, prompted fics, and drabbles for <i>The Hobbit</i> that I've worked on over the years but never had the heart to finish. I might pick one up every so often, but the likelihood of these ever being continued is very low. Still, I hope you enjoy them. Each chapter is a separate story with its own description.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cursed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _A curse is broken by a dragon's kiss._
> 
> Bilbo is cursed so that any he may love will fall to misfortune.

By the time a Hobbit reached fifty, it was proper for he or she to be married with at least one fauntling running around, or to have shouldered a charming reputation as a single Hobbit wanted a peaceful single life free of squealing children and a scolding spouse. Some Hobbits could even be accepted as that type of person who meets with other single older Hobbits sometimes and spends hours behind closed doors, emerging with secretive smiles. Not everybody was meant for love, though, and Hobbits understood this.

They still pitied those who did not find it, though. Some refused to settle down, and some simply could not, but all the same, those Hobbits who gained the almost reputable mark of 'bachelor' were looked upon with a fond sadness.

There was one Hobbit that they pitied more than others. He was whispered about in the taverns when pipeweed sang in the veins and vision fuzzed from too much ale. _Unlucky_ , they called him -- because every partner he tried to romance, every person he took out to dinner or spent hours dancing with alone, left him, whether through death, a fall, their health going bad, or some terrible accident that destroyed the relationship.

Bilbo Baggins had never been in a relationship with anyone for more than a year.

Inevitably, something always happened. His very first love fell down an old well and hit her head so hard that she no longer remembered her own mother's face. One girl broke her ankle when a tree branch fell on her as she and Bilbo walked through the forest. One young lad, when Bilbo was only thirty-four, nearly drowned the very first time his family went for a picnic by the Water. The last one, too... poor Anabelle was dancing at her engagement party with Bilbo, and the old rafters fell on them both, taking her from both her family and soon-to-be-husband in an instant.

 _Poor Baggins boy_ , the older ones whispered, while the younger Hobbits shook their heads at someone who could be so unlucky in love. Some Hobbits who read too many adventurous books muttered _cursed_ under their breaths, but of course magic was highly improper for a Hobbit, and there was no way old Gandalf, the only Wizard they knew, would curse poor Bilbo, even if he did spend a lot of time with the Took family, where Bilbo's mother hailed from.

Instead, it must have been because of his father and mother, it was whispered. Bungo Baggins, a confirmed bachelor of his day, romanced the infamous Belladonna Took who had sworn never to take on a lover, and their child Bilbo was born unlucky for it. Nothing to do about it, but still, it was a pity.

~

Bilbo Baggins lived alone, with no lovers and few friends, only visiting his family a few times a year on the largest birthday gatherings. His parents had left him a lovely home, meant for a large family, but Bilbo would never fill it with the children his parents had hoped he would have. He was cursed to lose any person he might fall in love with, so Bilbo Baggins did the right thing and chose not to love at all.

He had not courted anybody or even looked at another Hobbit with romance in years. Not since his fiancee had died and everyone began looking at him with sad eyes. He could not bear to hurt anybody else, so he forced himself to be alone, tending to his flowers he would never put together in bouquets, filling his closets with bright clothes that he will never wear on another date, and reading books of embraces he would never have, always to dream for that sweet feeling which he would never have again.

He was very, very lonely. His parents had died years ago, leaving his large home feeling emptier than ever. Sometimes his cousin-in-law Lobelia would visit and demand that he show his face at her birthday party, then nag him to give in and sign over Bag-End to her, since obviously it was meant for a large family, and he had none! No other Hobbit would say such things to his face, but Lobelia, fierce as she was, could get away with it.

Her best friend had died, after all, because of him. But Lobelia never blamed him, only scolded him for shutting himself into his empty hole and tried to march him back to being more than vaguely friendly with his neighbors. Bilbo let her boss him around, but he never let her have Bag-End, even though he considered it a few times. What good was keeping a large home if you had no one to share it with? Still, the warm home was precious to him, built by his father for his fantastic mother, and Bilbo was loath to give it up.

So year after year, he continued to live alone, keeping up face by sharing sugar and milk with the neighbors, meeting his garden group every two weeks, and occasionally going out for a pint with his cousins and few friends. He never let his eyes stray to the fairer sex, and if he happened to meet another self-professed bachelor who leaned in a bit too close to ask for a light, he would politely offer a match and retire alone for the night.

No good would come of falling in love again. Everyone he had ever truly loved had left him, after all, and Bilbo could not do that again to anybody. Not for all the pipeweed in the world, not for a promise of a lifetime of peace from Lobelia, not for anything. 

So he forced himself to be alone, and if his heart broke a little more every year, well, there was nothing to do to fix it. By the time he was fifty-one, Bilbo was at peace with his decision, and his relations with his neighbors and friends were better than ever. He tried not to think about Anabelle, or sweet Daisy, or pretty Ruby, or even shy Tom. He never let himself look at his gardener Holman with anything other than propriety.

When Gandalf came to his door and upset every simple part of his life, Bilbo at first was furious, particularly when Gandalf introduced thirteen loud, messy Dwarves who ruined his plumbing and raided his pantry to crumbs. The leader of the Dwarves was the rudest of them all, though thankfully he was not messy, and Bilbo had been very tempted to scold them all until they were all properly chastised, but he was quickly overwhelmed by their quest.

A chance. He could get away from the pitying whispers and sad looks, away from Lobelia's nagging and Holman's kind smile, away from his books that only made him feel very lonely. A chance for an adventure that would take him far away from any possible romance, where he could be part of something great, something fantastic, and maybe he could learn more about his curse, because Gandalf had a lot of wisdom and surely they might pass a library or two on their way to Erebor.

Even if he had to travel with Dwarves who were loud, messy, rude, and utterly incapable of proper manners, who did not know a handkerchief from the bottom of a waistcoat. Even if the leader of those Dwarves scowled at him and muttered about how useless he was. Even if said leader had very lovely blue eyes and a regal look to him which Bilbo could admire, but those thoughts were very short in his mind -- he had learned, after all, not to let himself admire for too long.

A chance to change -- and Bilbo would take it.

~

It seemed inevitable, though, that even far from home, he still managed to earn pitying looks. Some two weeks into their journey, long enough that Bilbo had learned something of the personalities of his fellow travelers, they were all sitting around the fire in the evening smoking when someone brought up the topic of romantic partners. Bilbo tried not to pay too much attention to the conversation, but no, someone eventually asked him about his love life, since Dwarves could be just as curious as Hobbits in these matters.

"So do you have a lady friend at home, Mister Baggins?" Bofur asked one night, his cheerful face relaxed from the pipeweed he was smoking. Bilbo shot him a mildly irritated look but shook his head, breathing out smoke and looking down into the fire.

"No lady friend, and no gentleman friend either," he said lightly, hoping that one of the others would pick up the conversation and carry it away from the topic of his love life. Gloin had gone off about his beautiful wife and son once already, and perhaps a nudge in that direction would take the attention off him.

But such was not to be, as Bofur raised his thick eyebrows, looking far too interested for Bilbo's ease of mind. "None at all? But you seem to be a fine Hobbit! I didn't think you had little ones, but not even a pretty lover on the side?" Bofur said, and Bilbo sighed out a puff of smoke.

"None at all, Mister Bofur. I'm not the courting type," he said shortly, and before Bofur could ask him again, he tapped out his pipe and stood, keeping his gaze averted, forcing a yawn out. "I'm feeling rather tired from today's ride, so good night." Quickly he left the warmth of the fire to his little bedroll, leaving Bofur bewildered and more than one Dwarf to eye him thoughtfully, including Thorin, though Bilbo did his best to ignore them.

It was none of their business, and he did not want to talk about it. Ever.

~

Unfortunately, it seemed like nearly every Dwarf wanted to talk about it, much to Bilbo's consternation.

_Like Kili:_

"Hey, Mister Boggins!" Kili called two days later, drawing up beside Bilbo as he returned from scouting. "Tell me more about Hobbit maidens! Do they really not grow any beards?"

 _Fili must be too far ahead,_ Bilbo thought with a sigh, wondering how Kili's parents had ever managed to deal with his boredom. "Sometimes the menfolk do in their later years, but women never do. Hobbits generally don't grow beards. The most hair we have is on our feet," he said, glancing over at Kili who looked entirely too curious.

"Really? But about every Dwarf has a beard by the time they're thirty! Does your wife really not have one?"

Apparently Kili had missed the conversation from the other night. Likely he had been tending to the ponies with his brother, but it still made Bilbo frown.

"I don't have a wife," he said a bit loudly, and then turned pink when a few of the Dwarves looked back at them. "And if I did, she would not have a beard," he muttered, glancing over at Kili.

Kili's eyes were very wide, and he actually leaned over in his saddle, looking at Bilbo earnestly. "Do you dislike beards, then? Maybe if you found a nice girl or even a fine man with a good beard, you might change your --"

"Kili!" Thorin barked from ahead, and for once Bilbo was glad for the glare the blue-eyed Dwarf sent over his shoulder at the two of them. With a small pout on his face that could have rivaled a baby Hobbit, Kili rode ahead, and Bilbo sighed in relief. He caught Thorin's gaze and nodded slightly, thankful for his interruption, and Thorin gave him a look that was far less of a glower than usual before turning to frown at Kili.

If Bilbo took a moment to admire the way those dark braids curled around Thorin's ear, he certainly made sure to look away when Thorin looked back at the company, resolutely believing that it was only to check on the others and not to catch another look at Bilbo. 

_Or Gloin:_

"Ahh, Mister Baggins, have I told you about my lad Gimli?" Gloin said with a sigh the next day. "Smart lad that he is, so good with an axe, and such a cute tyke! Seems it was only a little while since I met his mum, gorgeous woman! You should settle down when you get back to your Shire, you'll have yourself a pretty sum of gold and no Hobbit lass will be able to turn you down! Any caught your eye?" Gloin chortled, elbowing Oin who raised his eyes to the sky while Bilbo gave them both a blank stare.

"No Hobbit would settle down with me for all the gold in the world," he said flatly. Without waiting to see how Gloin and Oin's expressions changed to dismay, he pushed his pony to trot ahead, placing himself just behind Thorin whose stern glare would no doubt keep the gossippers away for a while.

_Or, of all Dwarves, Dwalin:_

Except Dwalin always rode close to Thorin, and Dwalin was apparently as bad a gossip as every other Dwarf in this Company.

"No Hobbit would settle for you?" Dwalin asked too loudly for Bilbo's ease of mind. He heard whispers behind them and sighed, giving Dwalin a dark look, but just as he had ignored Bilbo's scowls when he first invaded his home, Dwalin did not even flinch. "Lad, every one of this company hopes to go home to a wife and children, but even if most of us don't have one, we'll all be able to earn enough respect to find one when everyone comes to Erebor! It'd be no different for a Hobbit, I'm sure."

Bilbo glanced at Thorin's back. Thorin did not seem to be listening, though Bilbo was sure he was, close as they were to him. "Mister Dwalin, Hobbits are not like Dwarves. They do not see adventure as _proper_. I'll be surprised if my neighbors even speak to me when I go home," he said, pointedly not responding to the mention of 'wife and children.' The very thought sent a pang through him, and instead of glaring at Dwalin, he looked ahead, hoping that the others would change the subject.

Luckily the mention of gold had sent the Dwarves behind them into a spirited discussion of what they would do with their shares, but Bilbo could feel Dwalin still staring at him. He did not know how to convey, politely, that he did not want to speak of love or romance or wives or children. He did not want to tell them about his curse, but he could not simply laugh the topic off. It hurt too much.

"Hobbits are odd creatures," Dwalin said after a moment, and Bilbo's sore attitude bristled again, but he bit his tongue and said nothing.

And still, Dwalin persisted: "Surely there is one lass at home that might show interest? You're a good cook and have a nice home, and with the gold you'll have --"

"There is _no one_ , Master Dwarf," Bilbo said firmly. "No proper Hobbit will look at me twice no matter what I do or have, and I would much rather not talk about it, if you please. I mean no disrespect, but it is frankly none of your business. I'm _sorry_ ," Bilbo said with a bit of a shake in his voice, hoping that Dwalin would understand, this time, that _sorry_ meant _go away_.

He kept his gaze forward, not even daring to look at Thorin ahead of them, and Dwalin stayed silent, much to Bilbo's relief. After a little while, Dwalin fell back to join the discussion with the others, and Bilbo felt a gap open up between him and the rest of the Dwarves, feeling their gazes on his back and knowing that he had offended them yet again.

Though they had offended him, too, and he hoped they would leave him alone about the topic of marriage. If they did not speak to him about anything else, well, it was not as if he came on this journey for _friends_ , after all. All the more he missed his quiet smial and lonely books, because at least the empty air in his home did not ask uncomfortable questions or make him feel awkward.

With a small sigh, he glanced up from the ground and found Thorin watching him. He felt his cheeks heat up -- did Thorin really need to pay so much attention to him? It was disconcerting, with that keen blue-eyed gaze following his every moment -- but he did not look away, stubborn to the end.

Whatever Thorin saw, he said nothing to Bilbo and looked forward again, and Bilbo sighed to himself, feeling more miserable than ever. Maybe he should go home after all...

~

Yet if he had gone home, he never would have stumbled into the bright halls of Rivendell, the city of his dreams. Nor would he have gained a sword of his very own, or seen an Orc scouting party with his own eyes. Neither would he have been allowed to explore the famous city and the part of it that held the most of Bilbo's interest: its library.

Of course, if he had not gone on this journey, he never would have met Thorin, nor known the tugging of a reawakened heart that had been broken far too many times. Learning of Thorin's past, seeing Thorin give up his sword to save _him_ \-- it was starting to be too much. Thorin caught his attention in a way that made Bilbo's old heart want to weep in relief -- but Bilbo would not, _could not_ give in to such feelings.

So he did his best to hold Thorin as something separate from a love interest: a grudge, an adversary, a bitter old man who carried too many hurts -- and yet Bilbo wanted to soothe those hurts. But no! He could not. So he did not let himself feel.

In doing so, he made himself feel too much.

It was a relief when they entered Rivendell, because Bilbo could use the two weeks as a reprieve from the Dwarves and mostly from Thorin. He knew he was getting a crush, even worse than his tiny affection for Holman Greenhand.


	2. Body Switch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: body switch fic.

What Bilbo remembers of the night before: laughter, too much mead, loud singing, a drunken Wizard who lets off fireworks just inside the house. Bofur and Nori egging on Gandalf to cast some great magic, prove his wizardry, _come on, Gandalf, show us something fantastic!_

And Gandalf huffs and raises his staff, _I think I know just the thing --_

The last thing Bilbo sees is a flash and a bang, and then nothing.

~

Bilbo wakes feeling as if everything has doubled in size, with fourteen dwarrows hammering in his skull. He groans into the pillow and lets everything throb for a while, cursing Wizards and Dwarves and the beguiling call of sweet mead. How much did he drink? He felt stretched and swollen, and his limbs are heavy and thick, and his beard itches --

_His beard?!_

Bilbo's eyes fly open and he sits up, grabbing at his chin and feeling _hair_ , and so much of it, thick and scratchy and crawling down his neck. And his head is _covered with it_ , and it is long, and dark, and _what did Gandalf do to him?!_

Then Bilbo catches sight of his hands, and his eyes grow very large.

His hands are not his hands. His hands are large with thick, blunt fingers, and he _recognizes those hands_ , has admired them from afar for weeks now, he knows that ring, he has eyed it every time the owner of these hands fiddles with it on late watches. Now that he looks closer, he knows the beard on his face, and the hair that hangs over his shoulders, long and heavy.

He leaps from the bed and finds the closest mirror, and when Bilbo Baggins looks into his reflection --

He sees Thorin Oakenshield instead.

He is not ashamed to say that he fainted dead away.

~

Bilbo does not stay unconscious for long, for he wakes to small hands slapping his face and a panicked voice that disturbs him --

"Wake up! Wake up now! You fool, wake up before anyone sees!" was barked into his ear, and Bilbo recognizes that voice, has listened to it every day for all of his life, but it never sounded like _this._

 

He opens his eyes and stares up into his own face.

"Oh, good gracious," Bilbo whimpers, and his face twists in surprise when he speaks. Then his own eyes narrow in a glare, and Bilbo stiffens, surprised that his face could even look like that.

_"What in Durin's name happened?!"_ his face growls, and Bilbo pauses -- _Durin's name?_

"Thorin?!" he yelps, and Thorin Oakenshield glares at him from his own face, then twists in surprise.

"Do not tell me -- you are the Hobbit?" Thorin said in surprise, leaning back, and Bilbo sat up awkwardly, staring at his own body in shock.


	3. when the notes fade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Modern AU where Bilbo finds himself very interested in his nephew's dance instructor.

"Hurry, Uncle, we're going to be late!" a high voice cries, and quick footfalls near a large room with tall windows and many shelves of books. A small boy runs into the room a moment later, his wide blue eyes fretful and his small mouth pinched in worry. His upturned nose twitches and he gives a cry of despair to see the room's occupant with his nose, upturned just as his, buried in a book.

" _Uncle Bilbo!_ " the boy shouts, and the man startles out of his reading, looking up in dismay.

"Frodo, my lad, you know you're not supposed to shout in the library," the man says, taking off his reading glasses and turning to catch the boy in his arms, lifting him up. He smiles and rubs their noses together, causing the worried frown to break with a giggle. "Now, what's got you in a tizzy today?"

Frodo's smile quickly fades into a pout, stern as if he is the adult scolding the child, which makes Bilbo's mouth twitch in wry amusement. "We have to hurry, Uncle Bilbo, or else I'll be late for my dance lessons!"

"Ah," Bilbo says, drawing out the long syllable, until Frodo is squirming in his arms. "Your dance lessons. Tell me, dear heart, do you have your shoes?"

"Yes," Frodo says impatiently.

Bilbo shifts Frodo in his arms easily, walking from the room and down a long hallway. The house is welcoming and warm with cherry wood panels, toys hiding in corners and soft blankets thrown over the two sofas. It is clean, but not tidy, and homely with a touch of bookish interest, if the numerous shelves scattered throughout the house are any indication. The walls are decorated with brightly painted pictures, mostly the work of the small boy currently wriggling in Bilbo Baggins' arms.

"And do you have your bag packed with a change of clothes?" he asks, swinging Frodo up and catching him again, the boy's dark curls bouncing as he squealed.

"Yes, Uncle Bilbo! Can we go now? Please? I don't want to be late!" Frodo begs, wrapping his arms around Bilbo's neck and widening his big blue eyes for maximum effect.

Bilbo only laughs, stopping in the middle of the kitchen and setting Frodo on one of the bar stools, reaching up to tap his nose teasingly. "I suppose to avoid being late, we really must go! Though... you really wish to be an hour early?" he asks, looking pointedly at the clock.

Frodo follows his gaze and turns pink, his arms flailing as he struggles to respond in as witty a manner as his clever uncle. "I just don't want to be late!" he says after a moment, and Bilbo laughs.

"Let's have a snack before you go, lad, and then I'll drive you over. I'm sure Mister Oakenshield wouldn't want you to be late, after all," he sing-songs, going to the fridge and laughing as Frodo sputters at his back.


	4. the comings and goings of a modern fool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Modern AU where Thorin meets an interesting stranger at the laundromat.

"Oh, _blast it_ , not again."

Thorin pauses as he enters the laundromat, eyebrows furrowed at the pitiful whine that hangs onto the end of a curse his grandmother used to say, and which he has not heard since she passed away. The source of the low voice is easily identifiable; there is only one other occupant of the building, a curly-haired man whose scowl is only terrifying to the sock he has in his hand.

The door chimes closed behind him. The man looks over and flushes red; Thorin can see the stain creeping down his neck in a fascinating way. He has a turned-up nose and wide, dark eyes that hint at a Perian heritage, though his curly hair and short stature also point in that direction. The man mumbles an apology, ducking back down to the dryer to search for his missing sock, assumedly. 

Thorin raises an eyebrow but says nothing, instead hauling the bin full of his, his sister's, and his nephews' clothes over to the wall of washers. Most of them are tumbling away or marked 'out of order,' leaving two for his laundry. He remembers his sister's instructions about separating the colors, then shrugs and dumps everything into the last two washers. A few coins and the loads have begun, so Thorin goes to the small seating area and pulls out a book.

He does start reading, but his attention is drawn away time and again by the soft cursing of the other patron of the laundromat. He has pulled a sweater from the dryer, and from the look of it, the fabric is still soiled with -- wine? Whatever the case, Thorin watches over his book as the man drenches the offending blight with stain remover and stalks to the washer next to Thorin's, only to stop short.

"Really, the last two?" the man mutters, and Thorin's temper prickles.

"Got a problem with it?" he demands, satisfied when the stranger jumps.

Wide, dark eyes flash at him, while the stranger begins to turn red. "O-oh, I, um, I didn't, I'm so sorry --"

"Toss yours in with mine then, if it's such a problem," Thorin snaps with a glare, and the man rears back to stare at him in surprise.

"What -- really? You mean it?" His dark gaze darts between Thorin and the washers, bewildered at the kindness of a stranger.

Thorin shrugs, not bothering to point out that his random act of kindness is strange even in his own opinion. His sister would have keeled over in shock. "Whatever, just toss it in. I don't care," he huffs, looking back to his book. His attention remains on the man, though.

Moments, pass, and one of the washers stops when the man opens it and drops his sweater in, then starts up again a moment later. Thorin watches through his eyelashes as the man goes back to the dryers, his face bright with embarrassment, and continues folding his clothes.

He doesn't read a single word.

Eventually the man finishes and clearly works through a dilemma, with soft mumblings and a few _oh dears_. Then a large bin of clean, neatly folded clothes lands on the floor by Thorin's feet, and the stranger sits down two chairs away, looking extremely sorry.

"Thank you," the man says to him, and Thorin looks up with a scowl. It fades, though, at the sight of the man's expression, full of hope, misery, embarrassment, and interest.

"No problem," he mutters, his face heating up, and he is fascinated to watch a small smile appear on the man's face.

"Well, since we're stuck here with each other for a while yet... I'm Bilbo," he says to Thorin.


	5. beholden to none (except you)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo accidentally falls in love with a prince. (Oh, and everyone has wings.)

He was son of the old Thain's favorite daughter, and he was loved and respected. He was Bilbo, Periani of the Shire, and he had a secret.

Every three days, he went to the field closest to the mountains, and there he hid in the tall grasses that overlooked the river canyon.

There he would watch the Casari fly to and from their great caves in the mountains, and he would sigh every time he saw a certain pair of blue-black wings.

He was hopelessly in love with the prince of the Casari, and it was forbidden.

~

He was the prince of his world, the silent shadow in the caves, the guardian of Casari gold and gems. He was the treasured hero of his people, beloved by all and beholden to none.

Save one.

For Thorin had a secret. He held one forbidden in his heart, a child of the near mythical Periani race that hid themselves away deep in the valley. His beloved had eyes of silver light and golden wings, honed red with power and mischief. He was beautiful, and so very forbidden to Thorin's aching touch.

The Periani could not know that Thorin stole away every night to watch him in the fields at twilight, singing the flowers to sleep and waking the fireflies.

He was hopelessly, desperately in love, and he could never act upon it.

~

Early in the evening, at the moment between dusk and twilight, Bilbo flew to each field and sang to the flowers. Every night he did so, his voice deep and gail as he coaxed the flowers to sleep, and with the same voice he woke the fireflies to join the stars. They settled in his hair and on his wings, letting his body twinkle in the shadows as he roamed. When the last flower was asleep, Bilbo went to the furthest field and sat alone to watch the mountain.

This night was as any other, and finally Bilbo sat curled up on the warmest of the rocks, his eyes on the great lanterns on either side of the massive gate to the Casari world. The shadows were too long for him to see the color of any of the Casari that flew to and from their gate, but he liked to imagine one of them might be his Casari prince.

He watched for so long that he fell asleep beneath the twinkling stars, the fireflies hiding themselves away in his small wings, to protect him in the night.

A shadow watched him anyway; had watched him since he first came to the hidden alcove. Blue eyes keen and deep kept guard over the small Periani, protective to the first hint of sunlight in the east.

Until his beloved began to shiver, and Thorin left his shadows and sat beside the Periani youth, extending his wings around them to keep out the night chill. Autumn approached with shorter days and longer nights, and he could sit here only long enough. Then he retreated and his himself away again; his beloved woke alone, confused at the warmth surrounding him.

When he saw the edges of day creeping into the sky, Bilbo panicked and spread his wings to jump away. He paused, though, when he saw a black feather at his feet, long and sharp, but silken to his touch. He held it up but could not discern any details; so he tucked it away and flew from the alcove, keeping low to the ground as he traveled home.

Thorin cursed himself quite colorfully for ages after Bilbo had gone away.


End file.
